Untitled Avengers Drabbles

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Chapter Text

”Jarvis, coffee - - I beg you,” Tony not so much walked in as rather stumbled into the kitchen, hitting the edge of the table with his hip bone and making a very undignified noise as a result. ”Son of a bi - - Jarvis!”

”The coffee is ready sir, and if I may suggest - -” Jarvis started, but Tony’s focus had already shifted to the offending piece of - - Taco?! Currently on its way to Steve’s mouth, who looked completely unconcerned by this fact.

”No,” Tony whimpered and made an abortive gesture towards’ Steve. ”Don’t!” And what followed next was, ”Why would you even want to in the first place?!” That sounded much more panicked and less stable than he’d like it to be.

”It’s a Taco, Stark.” Steve paused, holding the offending piece of food gently with his fingers, ensuring that it wouldn’t fall apart before he gets to eat it.

”I know what it is.” Tony grimaced and slumped down heavily in the chair opposite of Steve, need for coffee pushed aside. This, this was important the man decided. ”My concern is,” he started, lengthening the vowels as if talking to a child. ”Why would anyone, most of all, you, want to eat it?!”

Steve blinked at him. Then blinked again, looking back and forth between what looked like a very delicious breakfast, stuffed with all kinds of yummy stuff, and Tony Stark looking one step from flipping the shit, because of a Breakfast Taco.

”Because it’s delicious.” Steve shrugged, ignoring the look of despair on Tony’s face as he took a huge bite, feeling the explosion of tastes on his tongue that was topped up with, his absolutely favourite, country gravy. ”Mhm,” he hummed happily, chewing slowly, and flicking his tongue at the droplets of sauce that managed to spill slightly down his chin.

”Urgh.” He heard Tony in the background, but decided that the absolutely sinful mixture of cheese and corn and meat and eggs (and was it guacamole as well?) was much more important than his team-mate personal issues with Tacos. Honestly, Steve thought. The man consumed unhealthy amount of Doughnuts and alcohol (not necessary in that order) therefore he had no say in the matter.

Because the fact was that Steve loved Country Breakfast Tacos. At least as much as he loved America, but it was one of those things he liked to keep to himself. Like this one time when Thor walked in on him showering and he squealed like a little girl. It happened, but didn’t need to be a general knowledge.

But, yes. Taco.

The second bite he took was a bit too big, and he had to work his throat and jaw to adjust to the additional amount of food in his mouth, but he couldn’t help it.

”God, this is so good,” he breathed out, eyeing the Taco appreciatively, readjusting his grip on it, so it would fit better in his mouth. It was greasy, heavy on his tongue and would give any normal person a heart attack, but not Steve. Not Captain America and his super fast metabolism.

Notes:

If there ever was a thing that Fury was afraid of, it was the thought of team’s resident god’s and their resident genius’s bromance (for jeza-red)

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You could say many bad things about Fury (if you dared to actually voice your opinion having met him before; most people stopped at the mere idea of thinking of having an opinion on the man), but having a big ego wasn’t one of those.

Sure. It would be far too easy to write off his actions as his own egocentrism, but it would be a mistake; a big one.

Fury wasn’t naïve nor was he an egocentric. He was a man made to push the limits, to reach higher. Hell. He was a man born for a grand mission, to finish it at any costs. Making mistakes wasn’t in his repertoire. Truly dangerous man.

However, for the past few days he’d been feeling a tad - - inferior, due to a decision he’d made and regretted almost instantly. It burned at the back of his mind and refused to be put down; to get forgotten.

Introducing Tony Stark and their resident Mighty God of Thunder, Thor, was a rookie oversight. Now glaringly obvious and laughing right in Fury’s face. To think there was a flickering thought in the past when he thought of the idea as mostly harmless.

”Harmless, my ass,” he muttered, watching Tony Stark calmly explaining the rules of something called Cube Mayhem to Thor (who was rather more intrigued by the little computer device it was on), and being far to patient at it for Fury to feel completely at ease. This.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

They were supposed to tolerate each other at best, to work together as a team. Stark was supposed to be the odd and fairly annoying resident genius, who gained them access to newest technology as well as the support of Iron Man when necessary and that’s it. He wasn’t supposed to befriend a Norse God with a Hammer (that could easily destroy the Empire State building in one throw) or arrange play dates for them to watch a fucking Bambi.

Bambi, for Christ’s sake!

Thor was dangerous, a deity so why in seven hells wasn’t Stark afraid of him? Was the man truly mad, or did it just for the sake of pissing Fury off? What else could be the reason for two grown adults to even consider watching a Disney movie together without pretending it was an accident?! With all respect to Mr. Disney and his heritage, this shit would not fly here.

Not while Fury was on watch, but first. First he needed a stiff drink, bazooka and a target he could practice on. Yes, that would do.

Notes:

Stark goes missing (requested by servant-of-the-dark-lady)

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It took them about half a day to notice that Tony Stark wasn’t around, and another two, to actually start getting nervous about it. The break from rock music (often mixed with minor explosions at random times of night and day) seemed refreshing, relaxing even, but - -

It was Bruce who decided to be the first to voice, loudly, his concerns about not having the hyper active genius around. As a creature paranoid by necessity he felt the uneasiness at being stuck between the glass walls of Avengers’ Mansion (designed by the yours truly, currently missing) creep on him more and more, making him fell trapped rather than a welcomed guest. Suddenly it was a stranger’s house and in his head he was intruding.

Natasha started sleeping with one additional knife under her pillow, whereas Barton stopped sleeping at all. Exchanging good night’s rest for larger caffeine intakes and sugary goodies from that Doughnut place that Tony introduced them to, stating that it was his, Natasha’s (and Fury’s) special place.

Barton thought (and still does to be honest) that Stark is clearly full of shit, but the Doughnuts were damn good (and the sugar helped now, with the wholeintroduction to insomnia thing going on).

Thor left on the fourth day, claiming some unfinished business on Asgard.

No one believed him (of course). No one confronted him either.

Steve… Steve grew oddly quiet, so quiet it got freaky pretty quick and the rest of them decided to avoid him if possible (it’s not like they were in the habit of hanging out together, but - -). The man kept mostly to the gym and his room or, in the rare occurrences, could be also found in the theatre room, watching old documentaries with Stark’s dad.

Notes:

I want to see Avenger!Thor somehow meeting skinny!Steve, Steve before turning into Captain America. And to read about Thor, clumsily trying to look after his future friend (might end up as Thor/Steve, but not necessarily)

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Weak.

Sick.

Hopelessly wishing for impossible.

So Steve could be called many things, some harsher than the others.

All of them true at least to some extent, but admitting it, especially confronted with the faces of bullies and normal, healthy (he despised the word, truly, deeply) people was hard.

But he believed, and tried and fought for the best of his abilities, for someone to finally acknowledge that he had it in him, that he was worthy.

Because he was, and damn them all, damn them to hell. He was.

Weak.

Sick.

Hopelessly wishing for impossible.

Ready to fight.

Ready to die for his country and his people, because yes.

They were his people, flawed, cruel and vicious, but most of all, scared.

Steve wasn’t ready to give them up, and thus he didn’t think much of it when he found an odd stranger in the alley near his home and decided to give him a place to stay. It might have something to do with the fact that despite his strong build and traits of richer upbringing (the man looked well fed, and didn’t have the usual traits of a person living in the streets) he looked so sad.

Lost. Steve knew that feeling, could still recall how it brings sadness and emptiness into your head making you feel miserable.

”My name is Thor,” the man told him later, after Steve helped him into his mini bathtub, apologising to the man, but doing his best to be a good host. ”I thank you for your assistance,” he continued and smiled. Steven nodded, but said nothing.

Thor’s smile was still sad.

Steve knew the name, of course. As a weak child there weren’t many things for him to do, so he ran away. Hid in the books and art and found his place of belonging among them. He remember the stories about mighty Gods and their adventures and mishaps. Thor’s name shining bright from the old pages, covered in fancy illustrations of creatures dressed in rich robes.

Certainly nothing like the man in his bathtub, but Steve was not going to judge.

+ + +

”What time is this, Steve Rogers?” Thor asked in-between bites of his porridge (it was tasty and good for your bones, so Steve made it a habit of eating it every morning). ”I do not recognize it.”

”It’s ninety forty,” Steve answered carefully, his suspicions about his new friend being slightly not right in the head, confirming itself. ”We’re in the middle of the second World War.”

Thor looked up at this, eyes scrunching, clearly not comprehending what Steve was talking about. Bucky’s shirt was tight on his frame, slightly more revealing than it ought to, but it was the only choice available at this time. None of Steve’s clothes would fit him.

”Who is the enemy?”

”It’s,” Steve stopped himself. Thor’s question was simple, but the answer to it was not. ”Hitler, Nazis. There is not one enemy. It’s complicated.”

”Then destroying this Hitler warrior would put end to it, would it not?” Thor voice seemed suddenly much too loud for Steve’s apartment. ”Defeating his army of those Nazi creatures you speak of, am I right? Steve Rogers?”

”Yes, yes it would,” Steve found himself agreeing somewhat reluctantly. ”But the war is much more complicated than that and it’s impossible for one man to finish it just like that.”

”Is it?” Thor asked, and Steve could have sworn the man looked somewhat offended but that suggestion.

”Yes, yes it is,” he insisted and something akin to pity flashed in Thor’s eyes.

”Would that mean you wouldn’t even try to stop, is that what you’re saying?”

”No!” Steve snapped, feeling the anger rise in him. ”No I wouldn’t and I am not giving up.”

- - After that, it’s a waterfall of words and anger and regrets and everything that he did or not do, and was not until later that night when he’s in his bed (Thor claiming the sofa in the main room) when he realized that he poured out his whole life story to this strange man and - -

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As a God of Mischief it was far to easy for him to get into the Avengers’ tower, when the so-called superheroes were out. At first he did this on a whim, to see just how well the place was protected, but it quickly morphed into something that one might as well call a hobby.

The fact that the aforementioned Avengers didn’t know anything, added to the thrill.

“You see, Jarvis,” Loki started conversationally, taking off his heavy cloak and helmet, dumping both items on the floor where he stood, before literally falling down onto one of the comfy, plush chairs in the main room. “They really should work on their priorities.”

“Of course, sir,” the house computer answered, turning down the temperature in the room, knowing that Loki preferred when it was colder here, and then reaching with one of its prosthetic limbs to pick the abandoned items and put them on the table.

“Just Loki, please Jarvis,” Loki said, waving his hand at one of the many cameras in a slight thank you, and sprawling inelegantly, for once not bothering to pose as anyone important. “We’ve known each for a while now.”

“Yes, tea would be lovely, or no, wait -” Loki stopped him, heaving himself into a sitting position, face turned to one of the cameras. “I think Stark has some new brand of coffee hidden somewhere, how about some of this?” He asked the room, and waited for the answer.

“Milk?”

“Yes, and no sugar please.”

“Wise decision, I keep telling Mr. Stark -” Jarvis started, but quickly quieted down, and Loki didn’t even bother to hide his smirk. Luckily Jarvis wasn’t easily offended, otherwise Loki would probably find himself on the other side of the door quickly, and it would be such a shame. He liked it here. Ironically Avengers’ headquarters became a perfect place for him to unwind.

“He’s worse than my brother, he really should ease off on sugar,” he offered as an afterthought, knowing fully well that Jarvis will keep this in his system.